Of Abominable Things
by sixsexypsychos
Summary: [summary and pairing due to change with every new upload] Down in the Slythrin dungeons, there are torrid love affairs. Can Draco sort everthing out between him and his Gryffindor before things get out of hand? CAUTION! Not for the faint of heart!
1. Ribbit!

**Disclaimer**: We, the **sixsexypsychos **do not own any recognizable characters or settings. All creative property (except for this amusing plot(less) fic) belongs solely to a one JK Rowling. No copyright infringement intended.

**Authors Note**: This was actually written during a seminar, when we were _supposed _to listen to the lecturers. From a Filch/McGonagall pairing, it came to…this. Still, we haven't decided yet if it really should be a romance fic at all.

**Writers**: (In sequence of appearance): **Gothrine**,** Metalla** and **Sylphera**.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Ribbit!**

The Transfiguration professor glanced at the clock on the wall. He was late, yet again. Sighing, she proceeded to tackle the pile of homework that needed grading on her desk.

A tentative knock, and the door opened, revealing the Hogwarts caretaker, smiling nervously over the top of his mops. Minerva spun around to greet her guest.

'Ah, it's about time,' she said, 'Are you ready for our session, then?' she asked, moving across the room to pull out a tea set.

Argus nodded, his wide grin exposing a set of yellowed teeth, 'I look forward to it.'

'Now let's go over the basics,' she started, 'Oh, for heaven's sake, sit down and stop fidgeting. The key to practicing a simple transfiguration spell is?'

'Concentration,' replied Argus.

She flashed him a rare smile. 'Exactly. Complete and utter concentration is the means to a successful transfiguration.' McGonagall tapped the edge of the teacup smartly, which in a puff of vivid blue smoke, transformed into a mouse.

Filch nodded eagerly, curling his long fingers in anticipation.

'Do you recall what we've learned in the previous lesson?' the professor asked.

'Yes, of course,' Filch replied, hastily fumbling for his brand new wand in his threadbare robes. He finally found what he was looking for. The transfiguration professor re-transfigured the mouse back into a teacup and inclined her head towards the squib.

Nervously, he licked his lips and his hands shook slightly as he raised his wand. Beads of sweat stung his eye and he blinked them away. He brought down his wand in a violent arch. The teacup shattered and Filch's shoulders slumped in failure.

'_Reparo_,' muttered McGonagall, and the tiny pieces flew back together. 'Physical strength is not a factor in transfiguration, Argus!' Minerva reminded him, patiently.

Filch shifted his glance up to meet the professor's eye. He relaxed visibly when he saw that she wasn't furious with him.

'Now, try again,' she said, 'Concentrate, focus on the object and imagine it turning into something else of your desire'

Filch did as he was told, eyes screwed up in concentration. Then, waving his wand, he muttered the incantation and knocked the piece of China off the table.

'Argus!' shrieked Professor McGonagall. Remembering the situation, she lowered her voice, 'How many times do I have to tell you? Don't close your eyes while performing a spell.'

'But-'

'Don't argue with me!' she hissed, 'Now, I want you to lie flat on the table!' With an almost casual flick of her wand, she cleared the table of parchment, quills and ink bottles.

He stared at her for a moment, speechless. 'Minerva…' he began, but stopped himself when he saw the expression on her face. He clambered clumsily onto the desk and lowered himself gingerly onto the old oak, hearing it groan and protest under his weight.

Filch braced his upper body with his elbows and stared uncertainly at the professor.

'I told you to lie flat on your back, Argus!' Minerva said sharply.

Filch quickly leaned back down, his back pressed against the cold, hard surface of the polished wood.

The professor smiled and slowly, deliberately, she approached the nervous caretaker. Lightly, she trailed the tip of her long wand from the point of his stubbly chin, down to his neck, tracing patterns through the thin barrier of his grubby shirt.

'I am far from satisfied with your transfiguration technique, Argus. Have you been practicing?'

'Er...' Filch stuttered, his eyes following the tip of the wand as its owner dragged it down the length of his body absently. It paused, hovering just above his most private of parts.

Then, to his absolute horror, he felt an _emptiness _in the area. He gaped in shock, unable to scream. Something struggled from under his belt – something cold and uncomfortably damp.

A head of a toad poked out from his belt line, its jewel red eyes unblinking.

'Ribbit…'

Filch suddenly found his voice, 'BLOODY HELL, WOMAN! YOU… YOU TRANSFIGURED MY…MY…' he choked, his voice dropping to a whisper before rising again, 'willie… INTO A BLEEDING FROG!' He howled and launched himself off the desk, hopping about frantically.

'It's a toad, Argus,' McGonagall corrected calmly.

'A _TOAD?'_

The amphibian in question gave another croak and hopped out of the caretaker's pants and out the door.

'No! My willie!'

'It's gone, Argus. There is no point in going after that asset of yours,' Minerva told him evenly.

'_GONE?' _Argus shrieked in panic, 'How the bloody hell can it be _GONE?'_

Professor McGonagall merely shrugged.

'I want my… my… I want it _BACK!'_

'Not until after you've mastered this simple spell, you won't,' Minerva smiled.

Filch gasped and spluttered in disbelief and horror. He stumbled back against the table, nearly knocking over the chairs beside it in his clumsiness as he struggled to regain his breath. His breathing was erratic and his hands gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles were parchment white.

'I'm a no-sex…'

The classroom door flung open ever so suddenly, and a pale boy with jet-black hair burst through. The two adults froze for a moment.

'Professor McGona…'

'Yes, Potter? What is it this time?'

'Professor, I… Whose toad was that by the way?'

She effectively ignored him, 'Meet me in the staffroom in five minutes.'

As Harry left the room, she turned back to Filch, 'As for you, Argus, keep practicing. You will be able to get back your… asset on your own once you've mastered the skill. In the mean time, you'll just have to make do without it.'

Filch walked out, dazed and muttering under his breath. A few paces away, a few first years crowded around something that looked strangely like…

'My will – I mean, toad!'

'Give it here, Mitchell!' cried one of the girls, reaching for the toad which was clutched in the Slytherin's hands.

Mitchell sneered, squeezing the poor creature until its eyes bugged out.

'No!' bellowed Filch, striding forward.

'_Accio toad!' _The girl, (whom Filch recognized as Savannah Belms of Hufflepuff), yelled, whipping out her wand. The toad zoomed out of the Slytherin's vice grip, emitting a startled croak.

Filch lunged forward and made a desperate grab for the flying toad. His fingers closed around the slippery animal and he stared at the struggling creature for a moment. He swung around and treated the group of first years with a healthy glare. 'Go on! Get out of here!' He watched with narrowed eyes as the students one by one obeyed and trudged away.

Filch waited until they had disappeared past the corner before releasing a huge sigh of relief. He looked down at the slimy animal gripped firmly in his hand.

'You're safe… for now…' he muttered.

The toad suddenly swelled, gave a strangled croak, one last kick and was still. The caretaker loosened his grip on the toad and slowly opened his dirty fingers.

'Sweet Merlin…

His cupped hands trembled as he made his way slowly to his broom cupboard. He reached for an empty jar and carefully slid the dead amphibian in.

'Oh, sweet, _sweet _Merlin…' he whispered when he realized the implications of the dead toad. Surely that wouldn't mean…? He shoved the jar under his robes, clutched it tight to his chest and dashed down to the kitchens. He threw the doors open, startling the host of house-elves out of his way and reached for the tub of sugar. He heaped generous amounts of the fine grain into the jar, smothering the toad. He rushed to the tap and watched as the water dissolved the sugar.

He held the jar to his eyes and stared mournfully at the spread-eagled toad.

'Pickled willie…Griping gargoyles, I'm screwed…'

* * *

**A/N: **To be continued...?

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	2. Curiosity Oblivated the Squib

**Disclaimer**: We, the **sixsexypsychos **do not own any recognizable characters or settings. All recognizable creative property belongs solely to a one JK Rowling. No copyright infringement intended.

**Authors Note**: This chapter was written during our recesses. Cheers, and enjoy!

**Writers**: (In sequence of appearance): **Gothrine**,** Metalla** and **Sylphera**. (Mostly **Gothrine **and **Metalla**, because **Sylphera** was too busy fiddling with the composer on **Gothrine**'s mobile to write…)

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**Chapter 2: Curiosity _Oblivated _the Squib**

Harry ran his hand through his hair agitatedly. What the hell was Filch doing in McGonagall's office? And a toad? Was it just his eyes playing tricks on him or did he see Filch talking to the dead creature on the second floor?

A wave of jealously coursed through him and he took a steadying breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. After all that he had done for his head of House, the moments they had shared; their night time trysts in the Chamber of Secrets… (Who knew that the Transfiguration professor had a thing for Parselmouths?)

He shook his head incredulously, ridiculing his own paranoid thoughts. It couldn't be – not after what they had shared last night. Besides, he was after all, The Boy Who Lived and quite recently, The Chosen One and Argus Filch was merely an inferior, grubby caretaker. No, he, Harry Potter, the one who faced Voldemort countless times and had survived each encounter, could not lose to a mere squib.

He turned his head when he heard someone approach. His heart did a double somersault when he saw that it was professor McGonagall.

"Minerva…"

She cast him a warning glare. "Hush, Potter. Not now in the hallway… the walls have eyes and ears…" she looked around, letting her gaze rest on the portraits pointedly.

"But Miner – professor," he corrected hurriedly, seeing her black expression. His hands itched. Oh, how he wanted to touch her; to feel the smoothness of her skin rubbing against his, the delicious friction, to taste the sweetness of her lips…

She saw the fire in his emerald eyes and frowned severely at him, struggling to squash her own ignited passion. "Come, Potter, to my office… We won't have enough privacy here…"

He followed her readily, like an obedient puppy and a small skip in his steps. Turning around the corner, he shyly slid his hand into hers, fighting to keep the colour from rising to his cheeks.

They passed a dark classroom where Peeves, was hiding dungbombs under chairs and on the ceiling.

"Now, now, Potty!" he sang in a singsong voice when he caught sight of the unlikely lovers, "Been a naughty boy now, have we?"

McGonagall released her student's hand immediately and glared dangerously at the poltergeist. "Peeves!" she barked, "What are you doing? Shall I call the Bloody Baron?"

Peeves stuck his tongue out and made a very rude gesture at the professor, and zoomed over their heads, cackling wildly. McGonagall shook her head in frustration and they continued down the hallway. They paused in front of her office door. McGonagall opened it with a flick of her wand, dropping the wards first. She indicated with a tilt of her chin and Harry entered the dark room before her.

Minerva glanced back at both ends of the corridor to make sure that no one was around before entering her office and shutting the heavy door with a tight click. She immediately raised her wards again.

Harry slowly paced across the dark room, patiently waiting for the Transfiguration professor to acknowledge him. He traced the tips of his fingers along the smooth, polished wood of the large desk, as vivid images of their passionate moments flashed through his mind; the hard surface pressing against his bare back, their tangled, entwined bodies…

He grinned slightly when he remembered hissing endearments to her in Parseltongue. Somehow, their tender love-making drew in snakes into the secret chamber. They had watched, hissing and writhing together in an undulating mass.

Minerva was apprehensive at first, of their spectators, but her attention was soon elsewhere when Harry had brought her to her peak over and over again, squirming in wanton lust.

"Potter… Potter!" she called, waving her wand in his face, bringing a reluctant Harry back to reality.

"Now, as you can see, Potter –"

"Harry," he corrected.

"Potter," she said firmly, "Much as I would like to continue this… this relationship of ours, I suggest that we take a break for the time being, as the situation clearly does not allow it… It is certainly not appropriate for a teacher and a student to… carry on," she blushed furiously before glaring at him meaningfully.

Harry did not bother to hide his disappointment. He folded his arms together, leaned back against the desk and heaved a huge sigh. He knew something like this would happen sooner or later… preferably later… blast her idea of propriety!

He stared at her for a moment, as though trying to read her thoughts. "Okay, if that's what you want," he finally said, struggling with his emotions but hid it with a seemingly unconcerned shrug.

Minerva nodded, relieved with this rare display of compliance, particularly when it came to such intimate matters.

"I have a proposition for you," she said with a smile.

Harry raised his eyebrow in a silent question.

* * *

Filch shook the jar disconsolately, watching his transfigured willie swirl round and round like a professional ballerina.

"Oh, bloody sod it all!"

First the toad, and now Peeves. Since when did Peeves start sprouting nonsense anyway? Filch snorted, glaring at nothing in particular. Scratch that, Peeves _always _sprouted nonsense.

Filch paused, his grubby fingers wrapped around the jar protectively. Had he simply imagined the flash of jealously in the young man's eyes when he saw Minerva and him together?

He couldn't help but overhear that blasted Peeves. _"Now, now, Potty! Been a naughty boy now, have we?"_

The caretaker of Hogwarts was undeniably curious… time for some snooping.

"Come, Mrs Norris,' he called softly before leaving his office.

He carefully tucked the jar into one of his inner robe pockets as he strode into the dim, empty corridor. Mrs Norris followed obediently in his wake, occasionally mewing softly when her distressed master stopped to listen for any unusual sounds, feverishly muttering to himself under his breath.

He rounded the familiar corner, heading to the corridor where the Transfiguration professor's office was situated, slowing down his pace.

The muffled voices coming from behind the door grew louder as he slowly approached, making sure his shuffling feet made no noise.

"WHAT? You want me to WHAT?" a voice which no doubt belonged to Potter shouted in disbelief.

"Really, Potter, it's not really that bad!" McGonagall admonished sternly, "And lower your voice! We might be overheard."

Filch pressed his ear to the door eagerly. Yes, he was an unbashful gossipmonger. He jumped backwards when Harry's voice rose suddenly.

"I absolutely refuse to do it! I don't trust him, Minerva." Harry ground out angrily - ignoring his professor's stern reproach for using her given name, "You know I how feel about that sod. I won't do it!"

"Potter, please act your age!"

"I DON'T TRUST SNAPE!" Harry all but bellowed.

Argus was so stunned by that sudden outburst that he nearly tripped over Mrs Norris when he took a step back.

Peeves had been on to something after all!

He scratched his prickly stubble confusedly as he quietly motioned his cat to keep silent. She stared reproachfully at him. He moved forward again and pressed his ear tightly against the wood.

"Potter," Minerva started again, but was cut off by her student.

"No! I'm not doing it. You can't make me, Minerva," Harry said firmly.

"What makes you so certain that you aren't and I won't?" the deputy Headmistress replied softly.

Filch's ear was already red from pressing too hard. He gritted his teeth in concentration to hear every word.

* * *

Harry shook his head vehemently. "You're not going to force me into doing this, Minerva. I know what's on your mind," he said stubbornly.

The professor awarded him with a genuine smile, her eyes glinting with undisguised mischief. She took a step closer to the sixth-year.

Harry abruptly straightened his stance, narrowing his eyes warily as she advanced upon him.

"Please, Harry," she pleaded softly, the light in her eyes softening, "if not for Dumbledore, if not for the Order, then at least do it for me."

"Bloody hell," muttered Filch, feeling quite stupefied. He frowned and pressed harder onto the door, his fingers accidentally brushing the bronze handle.

Harry stiffened at the slight sound and both he and the older woman swung to stare at the door. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but was silence by the look McGonagall sent him. She pressed a finger to her lips, signalling for silence.

She strode briskly to the door. The Transfiguration professor held up three fingers. Harry's confused expression cleared and he nodded, gripping his wand tightly. McGonagall wrapped one hand on the doorknob.

Three. Two. One.

She yanked the door violently open and both gasped when a certain caretaker squawked in surprise and collapsed in an undignified heap on the stone floor at their feet. McGonagall glared at Filch murderously and raised her wand at him. "How dare you? I am speechless, Argus!" her wrath bringing out her Scottish brogue, "Really! I see that eavesdropping is not below you." She was near apoplectic with rage.

'_Oblivate!'_

Filch smiled dreamily as his mind went blank. "Ho hum ho hum…" Filch giggled giddily, his face lit with an expression rapture as he wiggled his finger in front of his face.

* * *

**Special thanks to: Lossenrhos, Forget December, Blue Eyes and Blue Ink, **and **Black Knight **for the delightful reviews.

**Lossenrhors, **it was actually a language seminar, not a biology one! We have strange, twisted minds…


	3. Dark Marks and Mudbloods

**Disclaimer**: We, the **sixsexypsychos **do not own any recognizable characters or settings. All recognizable creative property belongs solely to a one JK Rowling. No copyright infringement intended.

**Writers**: (In sequence of appearance): **Gothrine**,** Metalla** and somewhere along the fic, injected a few lines here and there, **Sylphera**.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Dark Marks and Mudbloods**

"Blimey, what on earth is this doing here? In my pocket, no less…" Filch shook the jar violently, "How disgusting." The lifeless animal bounced up and down, continuously banging against the glass walls of the small jar.

Not knowing where he was going, he wandered aimlessly through the corridors, passing curious students. There was a commotion up ahead and students scuttled out of the way hurriedly, parting like a sea of black robes for a certain Potions Master that was in a foul-mood. Snape halted directly in front of Filch, his black eyes smoldering with barely suppressed rage. They stood, almost toe to toe and Snape's gaze flickered to the floating dead toad. His bad temper hung around him like a noxious black cloud,

"Where did you get that?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

Filch staggered a few steps backwards when he saw the expression etched on the other man's face. Snape towered over him; his expression was enough to make a grown giant cower.

"Wh-what?" Filch stammered.

"Where did you get that toad?" Snape repeated, his patience hanging by a thread.

"Toad?" Filch glanced down at the dead amphibian staring dully at him from inside the glass jar that he was clutching tightly.

Snape hissed impatiently, "Have your cleaning solutions addled your brains, you miserable cretin? Yes you imbecile, the _toad."_

"Er… I found it, sir."

The expression on Snape's sallow face grew even darker. "Hand that over, Filch," he held his hand out for the jar.

For some undetermined reason, Filch felt very reluctant to part with the creature. It was as if the poor dead thing was somehow important to him. The caretaker held the jar even tighter and eyed the other man suspiciously, "Why?"

Snape bared his teeth in annoyance, "A pickled toad has gone missing from my private store. I have reason to believe that Potte- a _student _has dared my wrath for it. That is rightfully mine, Filch, _hand it over."_

"Aye? What makes you think…" Filch quailed as Snape took a step nearer.

"Did you not hear what I had just said? Give it here," hissed Snape.

Unable to tolerate the caretaker any longer, he snatched the jar from the dumbfounded Filch and strode away, seething. His black robed billowing ominously around him as he descended into the dungeons.

Filch stared after the Potions Master, too confused to move or speak. There was something unusually familiar about that toad. Perhaps it was the expressive big eyes staring back at him, its mouth partially open. He fought the urge to chase after Snape and get back his toad.

His toad…

He _had _found it first of all, had it not? Finders keepers, Losers weepers.

Filch was determined to get it back.

* * *

"Powdered eyebright and chopped snake root… a pinch of euphrasia…" Snape added the ingredients into his cauldron cautiously, "Add in pickled toad, stir thrice and allow to simmer for a fortnight."

He stirred lovingly; eyes alight with his passion of potion making. He pointed his wand beneath the black cauldron and adjusted the flames low. The potion changed from vivid red to ivory, with a distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen.

"My Love Potion Number 9… Soon, my Hermione, soon…"

* * *

Hermione Granger crept out of the boys dormitories, Harry's treasured Invisibility Cloak tucked carefully under an arm. Her guilty conscience was fervently nagging at her senses. She really shouldn't be doing this.

Making sure that no one was around; she quietly slipped on the silver cloak and silently descended the stone steps leading to the Gryffindor Common room. She passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil on her way out of the portrait hole, nearly voicing out a greeting, but stopped herself in time.

She glanced at her watch and nearly cursed out loud; she was late… yet again. She knew he didn't like tardiness and wished desperately that he'd forgive her – Lucius Malfoy was very creative in his punishments.

Hermione winced at the memory and blushed prettily; her bum felt as if it were still smarting from the humiliating spanking he had given her. Lord, his palm fell swift and hard on her tenderness and he didn't stop until she had begged him through her tears. But, underneath his cold, hard demeanor, under his snarky and sometimes hurtful remarks, he had a fantastic mind, and an even greater body. The Gryffindor shivered with delight.

She hurried along the corridors, descending various steps stealthily and into the gardens. She breathed a sigh of relief and slipped off the cloak. Something grabbed her, cupping her mouth from behind.

"You're late," a voice whispered in her ear.

Her startled scream was muffled by his warm palm. She struggled and tried to get him to release his vice grip on her but her attempt was futile. She finally gave up after a few moments of kicking and scratching fruitlessly.

"Are you just about done trying to physically destroy me?" he asked, his breath hot against her neck.

She let out a small noise that sounded trapped, weary – a weak protest. He curled his neck around her, inhaling the floral scent of her hair. "Hmm…" he purred, velvet lips grazing the lobe of her ear, "…you smell nice…"

"What do you think you are doing?" came a voice from the darkness, a dangerous quality underlining the almost casual tone.

Snape released his hold on his student immediately and spun around. His black eyes narrowed and he glared intently at the newcomer.

"Lucius."

The blonde man inclined his head, a sneer twisting his aristocratic features.

"I should be asking you the same question. What business does someone like you have in the school grounds, in the dead of night?"

"That is none of your concern, Severus"

Hermione sighed at the argument. How could she have forgotten her detention with her Potions instructor?

"Hermione, you idiot," she whispered to herself.

If the men heard her, they gave no indication. "Oh, I believe it is, Lucius," Snape replied, in a chilly tone.

"The Dark Lord has his reasons for keeping his latest schemes a secret." Lucius bit back equally coldly.

Snape stiffened almost imperceptibly and sneered. "On contrary, my friend, I doubt he has shared information with you on the _latest planned endeavor with the French Ministry of Magic.'_

Lucius narrowed his eyes to tiny slits, an angry glint in his silver orbs, "Perhaps then, it should have occurred to you that you have been _kept in the dark about the plan regarding Emmeline Vance?"_

They glared at each other in stony silence, challenging the other. Hermione shifted her weight from foot to foot anxiously.

"Oh, _honestly,"_ she snapped impatiently, flinging her arms open in exasperation, "The Dark Lord is so stupid to ever tell you guys anything! I _told _him not to share any of the plans because you can't be trusted!" She crossed her arms peevishly, "What? Testing and prodding each other's egos and ranking in the Inner Circle not good enough? Just bloody duel already!"

They stared at her in shock.

"You… are a Death Eater?" Lucius asked softly.

She gave him a very Slytherin smirk, "I guess the snake is out of the basket then" she said, pushing up her sleeve to show clear, unblemished skin. "_Infinite Incantatem_." The Glamour Charm stopped working and both men saw the Dark Mark contrasting sharply against her milky white skin.

The two men gaped at the familiar glowing Mark in complete shock.

"But… But, how could it be?" Snape spluttered in disbelief

"Not a word of this gets out, you understand me?" Hermione hissed.

Lucius was eyeing the unique pattern with intent interest. He reached forward and caught hold of her wrist, pushing up the sleeve as he did so. His grip was painfully tight as he studied the Mark carefully. His silvery-grey eyes gleamed with cunning intend.

"This Mark…" he said softly.

"It's real," she spat, trying to wrestle her hand free.

Snape moved his attention to her wrist, "Let me see that," he snapped, grabbing hold of her hand with little grace, "Impossible… one of the Golden Trio…" he sneered, the sharp nail of his thumb dug painfully into her skin. He was quiet for a moment. "We will know if she is speaking the truth only when the time comes," he said at last.

"How dare you question me?" she snarled, wrenching her arm away at least, "Do you know that it was I who made Ginny miserable enough to keep writing in that charmed diary? I didn't do it outright, or course – Ron would have been on to me. Slytherin subtlety… Draco was most helpful…"

Lucius was studying her carefully, an unreadable mask on his face, "Has the Dark Lord marked you?"

"Don't be deliberately stupid, Lucius, it doesn't suit you," she spat viciously, "I have the Mark, don't I?"

"Indeed, you have the Mark. But my meaning was different. I ask you again, woman, _has the Dark Lord marked you… as his?"_

Snape snapped his head around, staring first at Lucius then at his student. Hermione flushed but held their gazes steadily, "Whatever do you mean?" she asked silkily.

"You know perfectly well what I mean. Now answer me, has he?" Lucius snapped. The expression on his face was steely.

"I fail to see if it is any of your business. These matters lie between the Dark Lord and I," she replied smoothly.

"None of my business? Oh, I believe it is, Miss Granger," Lucius took a menacing step forward. Hermione wasn't intimidated, however. She stood her ground and continued to return his fiery glare defiantly. He caught hold of her chin and tugged her forward, closer until they were just a breath away.

"No one defies a Malfoy, particularly little mudbloods like you," he whispered his threat. He nodded to Snape, who seemed to understand his intent. He raised his wand.

"_Legilimens_," Snape intoned, his baritone barely above a whisper.

Instantly, Hermione was filled with a carefree sense; everything seemed so right. She smiled dreamily. Snape frowned when he came to a mental wall erected before him. He tested its strength. He pushed hard and felt, rather than saw the young woman wince.

"Don't fight me, Granger."

To his surprise, she smirked faintly, "There are something that you are not to know off, _Professor."_

Snape glanced at Lucius who nodded curtly. Hermione cried out and all but slumped into Lucius's strong arms as Snape mercilessly attacked her mind. The Potions Master failed to stifle a gasp as vivid images and memories flooded out in a torrent from the breached fortress. He pulled out of her mind and ended the spell. Lucius watched as his friend panted and wiped salty sweat from his brow with a shaking hand.

"Well?"

Snape shook his head, "Bloody hell."

* * *

To be continued...

* * *


	4. In the Slytherin Dungeons

**Disclaimer**: We, the **sixsexypsychos **do not own any recognizable characters or settings. All recognizable creative property belongs solely to a one JK Rowling. No copyright infringement intended.

**Writers**: (In sequence of appearance): **Metalla**, **Sylphera **and **Gothrine. **

To a neglected reviewer (apologies!), **Blue Eyes and Blue Ink, **thank you for reviewing chapter two. We also extend our thanks to **Natsuyori **for reviewing the previous chapter.

Happy reading!

* * *

**Chapter 4: In the Slytherin Dungeons**

Draco Malfoy was a distracted teenager. But he could all but ignore the reality of the situation before him; the warmth of their bodies entangled together, the sounds of their breaths as they moved together, steadily gaining rhythm.

He unconsciously adjusted his crotch. The dark-skinned Slytherin boy writhed beneath him in pleasure, the pads of his finger tips running lightly over the contours of his partner's shoulderblades.

Draco pushed harder and was delighted when his partner let out a loud moan of pleasure, "Right…_there…_oh, MERLIN, Draco!" Blaise mewed, shuddering under his lover's touch. Draco let out a grunt in reply, hot perspiration beading his brow. He buried his head in the crook of his partner's neck, his breathing erratic as he indulged in the erotic pleasure.

They both looked up in shock; their movements momentarily stilled when there was a knock on the door. Draco struggled upright, gasping at the sharp pain down below, "Damn, it's stuck!"

* * *

Ron Weasley frowned when he heard the swearing from behind the door, "Draco? You busy?" He rapped smartly on the door again.

* * *

Draco swore under his breath, trying to pull himself off, "Stop lying there catatonic-like, Blaise. Bloody _help _me!" Blaise gave him a Cheshire smile and stretched lazy like a cat, the ropy muscles in his arms rippling under his dark skin, "Not until I've had my pleasure…"

The blonde stared down at him, "You _didn't…_"

Blaise nodded, grinning.

"Where's my wand? I need to bloody end your stupid Gratifying spell."

In response, the young man wriggled his hips, giving him a flirtatious wink, "You wand is right _here, _Draco," he said, deliberately layering his sentence with outrageous sexual innuendoes. He hooked his ankles around Draco and drew him nearer.

A shuddering groan tore itself from Draco's lips. He was helpless in his partner's thrall, "Don't do this to me, Blaise. You know very well that if Weasley finds us like this, it'll be over; the both of us."

"But isn't that what you want? To end things with him?" Blaise reminded him. He deliberately shifted his body into a more strategic position, causing Draco to shudder in response.

"I do want to end it with him…" Draco gasped out, "but not like this. I want to let him down gently and in my own time. I don't think I'm done with him yet."

"Draco!" yelled an irate Ron, virtually pounding on the heavy door with his fists, adding an appropriate kick now and then with his feet, "If you don't open this door right now, I swear I'll break it down and break your neck!"

Draco tensed when Ron attempted an _Alohomora_ on the door. The multiple wards that he had put up held, but Draco knew that it was not for long. "Dammit, Blaise, geroff!"

"Ah, but I believe that _you _are the one who's on top of me. You get off, Draco," Bliase purred as Draco glared down at him malevolently. Draco swore when he saw the truth behind the words and hastily struggled to shift their positions, trying his best to roll over so that Blaise would straddle him, but his stubborn partner wouldn't budge.

Desperation seemed to make Draco stronger and he managed to manoeuvre himself below his lover just as the last wards on the door fell. The door burst open and a flushed Weasley emerged, panting for breath, "What the hell are you playing at, Dra-" he stopped in mid-sentence as he took in the scene before him.

Thinking quickly, Draco made his lips wobble and he summoned Slytherin tears, "Oh Merlin, Ron! Please…please help me… I can't… I couldn't stop him…" he choked back on his laughter as Blaise's incredulous expression, but to a distraught Ron, it seemed as if he was holding back torrents of tears, "Help me… please!"

"What the hell!" Blaise glared at the blonde smirking behind his hand at him, lush eyelashes wet with crocodile tears.

"Pervert!" roared Ron, raising his wand, "Sex-maniac! Depraved snake!"

"Wait! Ron!" cried Draco, alarmed, when he saw angry sparks leaping from the tip of his wand.

Ron was white with rage, eyes narrowed on Blaise, "Draco? Are you hurt?" the anger vanished and he lowered his wand, "Get off him," he said coldly to Blaise. Striding forward, Ron seized Draco under his armpits and tugged; only to release him hastily when Draco yelped in pain, "Don't do that!" he groaned.

"Why?" Ron demanded.

"Blaise… he's charmed my –"

Ron's loud roar cut him off. He grabbed a startled Blaise violently by the neck, tightened his long fingers. He jerked Blaise's head up roughly with his other hand, so that his face was upturned, meeting his fiery glare, "What did you do to Draco?" he growled savagely, shaking the other man until his teeth rattled in his head, "If you hurt him, I swear I'll tear you to shreds with my own bare hands!"

"Hurt him?" Blaise's laugh was incredulous. You've got it al wrong, Weasel." He choked and spluttered, his hands scrambling at Ron's death grip around his bruised neck.

"Call me that again and you're dead, Zabini," the redhead whispered his threat, "You still haven't answered my question."

"I-will-if-you'd-just-loosen-your-" Blaise wheezed.

Ron loosened his grip slightly and threw a furtive glance at the silent Draco, who was watching him warily, looking distinctly awkward and uncomfortable.

"My God," Blaise gulped for air.

"Answer me!" Ron snapped impatiently.

Blaise gave a small arrogant lopsided grin. The cunning glint in his eyes were back, "Your boyfriend here just gave me the best climaxed I've had for months, just a few minutes ago," he replied with satisfaction, giving an open-mouthed Draco a sly wink.

"He's lying!" Draco shot back. He was desperate to convince Ron that Blaise had indeed forced himself on him.

"Oh?" Blaise smirked, "Am I now?" He turned back to Ron, "Look, if I coerced him into my bed, then _why_ is he _in me _and not the other way 'round?"

Ron blanched and looked down at the joined hips, a red flush creeping up his ears, "Draco?" he forced out, throwing the blonde a look as if begging him to deny the allegations. Draco opened his moth, but words failed him completely. It was enough for the Gryffindor. Trembling, he nodded curtly at the dark-skinned Slytherin, acknowledging him, "Blaise…" he looked away, unwilling to meet the silver eyes of Draco, "Malfoy…" he strangled out, "G'nite." He turned on his heels and stalked from the room.

Draco's heart shattered when the redhead called him by his last name – it signified the abrupt end of their relationship.

Malfoys do not cry…

He opened his eyes to see Blaise looking down at him with concern. Draco shifted, "I want to be on top," he said dispassionately. His partner gave him a long calculating look before complying.

Draco ran his fingers over the dark disks that were Blaise's nipples. He felt the surge of power and he leaned in and flicked his tongue over the writhing Slytherin's earlobe, "Scream for me, Blaise… beg…"

He elt emotionless and detached as he brought a glassy-eyed Blaise just to the edge of passion before denying him release. He listened with half an ear to the young man's pleas.

Domination and revenge.

Draco relieved the moment over and over again, when Ron gave him a betrayed look that twisted knives into his heart.

Malfoys do not cry…

Finally, close to dawn, tired of teasing the trembling and exhausted Blaise for hours, Draco allowed him pleasure. As Blaise slumped unconscious into the pillows, Draco pulled away and stared down impassively at the body half tangled in the silk sheets.

He dressed himself, running his finger through his hair to tame the damp locks. He found his wand lying under the bed. Silently, he exited the room without a backward glance, closing the door firmly behind him.

* * *

To be continued...


End file.
